Conversations with a Mad Man
by becksie
Summary: This is just a bit a fluff. The person I wrote this about made many choices that took his life where it led him. I always hoped he died happy. Maybe.
1. chapter 1

"Hey, Pete?" he looked over at me from his behind his bass, his long black hair in waves around his shoulders, his vivid green eyes shooting curiosity and impatience at me. I could tell he wanted me to hurry a long. You would think being older, he would be more appreciative of time and more importanlty the need to form words in our head, being in my early thirtys I most deffintly appreciated people not spouting the first thing that came out of their mouths.

Pete has always intimidated me, his eyes stared into my very soul, stripping me bare and leaving me with absolutely no way of defending myself to his scrutiny.

It's rough, not letting him see how badly his gaze affects me but I carry on, smiling as I ask him what has bothered me the most during the many years of our friendship.

"Feel like getting into some deep shit?" His smile got huge and wide, I sighed, he always thought dirty. With a roll of my eyes and a sharp no, he soon got the point.

"Her, are you ever going to talk about it?" his eyes hardened, his steel gaze shot lazers at me that made me feel as though i were being flayed alive. Impossible as it seems, I held his gaze, standing my ground, his back straightened as if to force me into submission, I smiled, a small smile but enough hopefully to convey that I wouldnt judge him and or force the issue.

Finally, he blinked, his eyes had softened.

"Not today. Just not yet, one day". I sighed, one day he will talk about it, I know how our relationship came about was odd, given most of his relationships with females but I had not relented to his intense sexual prowess and let me tell you, it wasnt easy.

I smiled in understanding and we fell back into our usual banter of the best burger I ever ate, or the worst groupie he banged. We got back to casual. It was just what both of us needed. We ended up passing out on his couch after polishing off a crate of beer, and life went back to normal.

We never talked about it, Her. We found eachother and life took over. We were happy, boy were we happy. Were we in love? No. He wasn't. I wasn't her but he was happy, the group got back together, he always said when he needed money they would probably tour again, just after they finished touring we were at home. It all happened so quickly. Aortic Aneurysm, his symptoms, we brushed off as it was just worse than normal pain. I will never forget that day.

His will, came with instructions to a storage unit, a box labelled "Conversations with a mad man". His memoires, his life before us. All of it.

Her.

My burn barrel is sitting pretty in the garden, maybe I should put her to use.


	2. Chapter 2

It's so cold, so lonely.

I don't know how to do this, the desire to leave. To go and be held in his arms.

It would never happen, he is not up there waiting for me. He is waiting for her.

I must remember to be grateful for the time I had with him, being in his arm's, kissing him, making love wait no, that wasnt love, that was fucking.

He didn't love me, he didnt love my body, he enjoyed it but never love.

The burn barrel is waiting, the box is right next to me. I want to open it up, learn all there was to know, somehow it would be justification for his pain but he is gone. Would it help?

Before I could have the chance to change my mind, I jumped up and grabbed some wood from the wood pile, and stomped over to the burn barrel. Lighting her up, staring into the flames, waiting, for what? I had no idea. But I just watched and lost myself, my brain a void of nothing, no feelings no thoughts, the most peace I had had since he died.

My decision was made, clearly this was the right thing to do.

I grabbed up the box and huffed it down four feet from the barrel, lifting the lid. I saw his scrawled handwriting "Conversations with a mad man", letting out a sigh laugh for the first time in a long while, glancing back down, my heart skipped when I saw what else he wrote,

"Thank You for freeing me of my addictions"

"Addictions", I gawped at the paper, falling to the floor, next to the box on a wet floor amongst the dark clouds and the stinking burn barrel, I delved into the box. Not caring when I saw who **she** was but soaking in his words, his story, his life.


	3. Chapter 3

She has always brought me joy, made me feel loved, given me peace. It has been a struggle, but we got there.

She was happy, so was I.

We were more than friends, she became my all. My cats and her, and my life was complete.

But then she asked about **her.** And I couldn't tell her, the reasons, the anger, hate, joy, love, how alive **she** made me feel.

So I wrote it down, too ashamed to tell her myself. I put it in storage. I hope she reads the last page.

She became my all, all consuming hunger, need, desire. I want to give her everything, just us, the world and love.

I really hope she reads the last page.

She is calling, bet I fucked up putting the laundry on.


End file.
